


The Movement that I Crave

by embroiderama



Series: Truth 'Verse [26]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Drunkenness, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-19
Updated: 2010-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-06 11:48:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embroiderama/pseuds/embroiderama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen's tongue is loose, but his laces are tight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Movement that I Crave

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Over the Rhine's "Drunkard's Prayer." This is set in early 2008, before [You're My Whiskey from Time to Time](http://embroiderama.livejournal.com/186479.html) in the [Truth Verse](http://embroiderama.livejournal.com/55732.html), though the timeline isn't important to this story. This is for [](http://ladykatiewench.livejournal.com/profile)[**ladykatiewench**](http://ladykatiewench.livejournal.com/).

Jeff heard a car door slam outside Jensen's townhouse, and he and Bisou perked their heads up at the same time. As keys jangled in the door, a brief bleat sounded from a car horn and headlights slid across the windows as the car pulled away.

"Hey, babe." Jeff walked toward Jensen as he came through the door, and from five steps away he could smell the party. Beer and whiskey and sweat, tobacco and weed. Jeff reached out to pull Jensen close for a hug, but before he could do that Jensen's hands were warm on his face, cupping his cheeks, and Jensen's breath was gusting against his face for a second before their lips were pressed together. Jeff wrapped his arms around Jensen's slim back and held him against the door. Three weeks since they'd had their hands on each other, and it was too fucking long.

Jeff had figured on getting into Vancouver on Saturday, but filming had wrapped half a day early, and he'd charmed his way onto a plane that got him into Vancouver Friday night. He knew Jensen would be out at Jared's party, but he could wait. He didn't mind the time to decompress, let himself relax into the quiet, into the upholstery, into a good Canadian beer.

"Mmmm," Jensen hummed as they pulled apart, gasping a little for breath but still holding on to each other. "So fucking glad you're here. Wouldn'ta stayed so long watching Jay try to dance like an overgrown spastic chimpanzee if I'd known you were waiting for me."

Jeff smirked, snorting out a burst of laughter. "Spastic _chimpanzee_?"

Jensen waved one hand around in the air. "Whatever."

"Oh." Jeff leaned in and kissed Jensen again. "You know, I think this is only about the third time I've seen you stoned."

"Naw," Jensen drawled like he never did when he was sober. "Just, you know, Steve was passin' it around."

"It's all good, man." Jeff ran his thumb through the sweat gathered at the crease of Jensen's elbow, just below the rolled-up hem of his sleeve. "You want to move this party to the couch?"

"I want a lot of things." Jensen grinned, his eyes bright if a little fuzzy. He sat down, propped his right foot up on the coffee table and started pulling at the laces.

Jeff sighed, watching the knot pull tighter rather than coming loose. "Need help?"

Jensen sighed and pulled at the laces again before dropping back against the couch. "I'm having a hard time!" Then he laughed and slid his hand over onto Jeff's thigh. "Heh, I said hard."

Jeff laughed, but he couldn't help the way his hips arched up into Jensen's touch. Jensen could hold his beer and liquor the way any born and bred Texan ought to be able to, but he rarely smoked up, and when he did it was like a no-stops, no-tolls highway opened up between his brain and his mouth, and his hand-eye coordination was shot to shit. Then again, Jeff didn't mind one bit. He loved Jensen like he hadn't loved anyone in a long time, but Jensen could be too controlled for his own good, too buttoned-up. It was good to see him slumped on the couch like his backbone had taken a vacation.

Jensen's hand flopped back onto his own lap, and Jeff bit back a moan at the loss of contact. "You a tease, boy?"

"Naw, I'm just trying to think if I should cut the laces off my boots because I think they're tied for forever." Jensen closed his eyes for a moment, smirking. "For forever, sounds like stuttering."

"Uh-huh." Jeff slid off the couch and pushed the coffee table out of the way so he could sit down on the floor at Jensen's feet. "What do you say I take a crack at this puzzle?"

"Whatever floats your boat. Well, maybe floats my boat too 'cause it's nice to see you sitting down there."

Jeff grinned as he looked closer at the laces, his nose wrinkling at the smell of beer.

"Nice to see you anywhere, you know?" Jensen sounded more serious, and Jeff squeezed his foot as he looked up.

"I know." But the laces weren't budging. They were pulled tight, the threads damp and swollen into the knots. "You decide to go wading or what?"

"Mmm, some clumsy idiot spilled beer on my shoes."

"That clumsy idiot maybe you?"

"Heeeeey!" Jensen protested, swatting lightly at the top of Jeff's head. "Only some of it."

Jeff pried at the knots with his fingers, but he just couldn't get a good enough grip to get them loosened. He knew he could give up--cut off the laces, let Jensen sleep in his boots, whatever--but it was a matter of pride now. Jensen's fingers were working their way through Jeff's hair, blunt nails scraping his scalp, and the touch was so good, so missed. Jeff ducked his head down and bit at the knot with his front teeth, tugging at the edge of the lace until he felt it budge.

"That's…" Jensen trailed off, adjusting his hips on the couch. "Fuck, man."

It was easy from there. The laces on Jensen's right boot came open with a little more encouragement from Jeff's fingers, and the laces on the left opened easily with a tug on the right loop. Jeff pulled off the boots, and Jensen toed off his socks until his feet were naked, toes digging into Jeff's thighs.

Jeff cupped his hands around the back of Jensen's calves, running his thumbs over the line of muscle under the denim. "I missed you."

Jensen leaned back and looked up at the ceiling. "Sometimes I think about, you know, when this is over--" Jeff's sudden tension must have translated itself into his touch because Jensen sat up and leaned forward. "No. No, I mean the show. When the show's over, maybe we can both just be in LA. You know, most of the time. There's got to be enough work and fuck this fucking separate countries and continents and shit."

"I don't want you to give up on opportunities, Jen. You're young, and you--"

"I know what's important." Jensen leaned his elbows on his knees and met Jeff's eyes, their faces only inches apart. "You think I'm just stoned and talking out my ass, but I know what's important."

And Jeff could see it in his eyes; Jensen was sober, more or less, the haze of pot gone from his eyes. He meant every damn word.


End file.
